


The Christmas Kitten- A Fluffy Tale (tail?) of Love, Hope, and Promise....

by soulgyrl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulgyrl/pseuds/soulgyrl
Summary: A half frozen kitten shows up at 221B. The boys have no idea how this little ball of fur will change their lives.





	1. Baby, It's Cold Outside

Friday, December 23

“Whoa,” exclaimed John Watson, as he blew on his hands. “You could fair freeze your arse off in this weather if you were out in it too long. It’s not fit for man or beast out here. Why did we pick today to go shopping anyway?”

Sherlock Holmes looked over at his partner and smiled. They had left 221B that morning at ten am to do some last minute Christmas and grocery shopping. It was now half past three and they had just boarded a cab to take them home.

“Actually, John, if memory serves, and I’m sure it does, _you’re_ the one who chose today. Remember last Sunday evening’s panic when it dawned on you Christmas was a week away and our purchase tally was ‘zero’? _You_ chose today saying the weeknights were too busy. You _could_ have consulted the weather forecast and chosen a more...agreeable day. The three previous days...temps were around 1C which is much more favorable than the -13C we’ve had to face today. But no matter, we’re on our way and a blazing fire and hot buttered rum await.”

John laughed a bit. “Hot buttered rum? Since when do you fix hot buttered rum?”

“I don’t. Mrs. Hudson’s making dinner for all of us and she mentioned something about it.”

John blew out his breath and sunk further back into the seat. “Ahhh…thank god for Mrs. Hudson.  Do you think she’ll like the twin-set we got her?”

“Yes. It’s not cerise, which she adores, it but ‘drains’ her, apparently. Its ‘aubergine’, the right color for her shading.”

John laughed and snorted at once. “Is that why you were so intent on getting that particular one? What do you know about coloring for women? Another fun fact you’ve got stashed away in your mind palace? Because we all know that’s infinitely more important than grasping the workings of the solar system. Oh, Sherlock, you amaze me sometimes, you really do.”

 

Sherlock had shifted just the slightest bit and turned his attention to outside the cab window. “It came in handy enough today though, didn’t it?” He said under his breath, a glum look on his face.

John threw his hands up. “And there. I’ve upset you again. Sherlock, I’m sorry, really I am. That was unnecessary. I’m glad you put that much thought into picking out something nice for Mrs. Hudson. Seriously, it’s….heartwarming that you care about her that much. And I promised not to bring that...solar system subject up again, didn’t I? Can we scratch all that and start again? I don’t want there to be any friction between us. Not now. It’s Christmas.”

Sherlock turned towards the man he adored and took off his left glove. He gently caressed John’s cheek, running his thumb along the ridge of bone below the eye.

“Yes,” he said, a bit huskily. “How can I deny you? No more arguments.”

And he bent down and claimed John’s lips, rich and ripe… and his spirit soared

 

* * *

 

 

“I must say, this was a nice change of pace having dinner here downstairs with you instead of up in our own flat. Don’t you think so Sherlock? Sherlock?”

There was no response, so John gave him a little kick under the table. This appeared to bring Sherlock out of his reverie.

“What? Oh…yes, yes of course. This was nice, Mrs. Hudson. Very nice. Sorry. I was just…thinking.”

“There’s a shocker,” their landlady remarked with a giggle, giving him a motherly pat on the arm.  “I know you two have been very busy, what with work and planning for the party at your place tomorrow night…well, I thought this would save you a bit of a mess in your flat. And I have another string of lights you can use on your tree if you want them. I noticed yours looked a little...umm….dim.”

John looked at Sherlock. “What do you think? We only had that one working strand. I’ll do it. You don’t need to mess with it. I know how you hate fighting with those things.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “They conspire against me, I swear. Even when I plug them in to test them out first and find everything ship-shape they end up half smashed and burned out by the time I get them on the tree. It’s quite maddening.”

“That’s because you tangle them into an infinity knot and step on them in the process. And that’s exactly why I said _I’d_ do it,” John said with a grin. “So, with that, I think we will take the lights, Mrs. Hudson.  And thanks. Now, how about I…or we…help you with the clearing up?”

“Oh no, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, with an emphatic shake of the head. “You two pop off. I’ve got all….”

“Excellent idea, John,” Sherlock interrupted, jumping up at the same time. He had a slightly maniacal look on his face. “That will do _perfectly_. You help Mrs. Hudson with…err…whatever. I’ll get…gotta dash.”

And he was out of the flat before the other two could even respond.

Mrs. Hudson sighed and looked a bit sadly at John. “I don’t know how you put up with that sometimes, I really don’t. He has the attention span of a toddler.”

John smiled warmly. “It’s not _that_ so much as his one track mind. He can get so focused on one train of thought the rest of the….world just ceases to _exist_ for him. It’s a wonder he hasn’t gotten himself hit by a bus or fallen out a window by now. He nearly chopped his fingers off the other day on that idiotic homemade mini-guillotine of his. I walked into the kitchen right when he let the thing fly and I guess I startled him. He pulled away in the nick of time”

Mrs. Hudson looked horrified. “Guillotine? What on earth is he doing with a guillotine?”

“Do you really want to know? He gets fingers, toes, even heads from Molly at Bart’s morgue and….well, you know, chops them. He claims its research for future reference, but unless the world goes to hell in a handbasket in the near future and we revert to the Middle Ages, I don’t anticipate we’ll be investigating many death-by-guillotine cases soon. Personally, I think he just enjoys whipping and cutting things.”

“Ugh,” Mrs. Hudson moaned. “It’s all a bit…morbid, isn’t it? I found a bowl of eyeballs in the fridge once. Put me off eating for the rest of the day.”

John laughed lightly. “Oh, Sherlock! He’s one of a kind for sure. Now, I suppose I should help you with this clearing up before it gets any later. And I can get back upstairs to see what the devil he’s up to.”

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty minutes later, John bounded up the stairs to his own flat and entered the kitchen. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and walked into the living room. The only light was from the small table lamp by the sofa.

“Sherlock?” No answer.

John sat the beer down on the coffee table and walked on to the bathroom; the door was only slightly ajar, but the room appeared dark and empty. Sherlock’s old bedroom, now an “experimentation study” was also vacant.

 _What did he do, come up here and go to bed? Or leave?_ _Only one way to find out_.

John climbed yet another set of stairs, to his old room….the one he now shared with Sherlock. The door was shut, but there was light shining through a large crack at the bottom.

John gave a couple of raps. “Sherlock, you in there? Sherlock?”

“Ahhh…yes, yes John. But, _don’t come in, please_! Not yet. Ummm...would you mind waiting downstairs for a tiny bit longer? And don’t go in the bathroom either. Just give me five minutes. Please.”

 

“Don’t go into the bathroom?” John mumbled. “Okay…alright. I’ll go down and…read the paper or…something. See you in a bit.”

There was no response, so John just rolled his eyes and made his way back to the living room. 

True to his word, Sherlock appeared five minutes later dressed in his pajama bottoms, slippers, and robe. “You didn’t go into the bathroom, did you?”

“No.” John snorted. “And what’s that all about anyway? Good thing I peed downstairs before I came up. Are you going to tell me why?”

“I’m not going to tell you, I’m going to show you,” he replied a bit haughtily. He took John by the hands and pulled him up. “Wait. Stay right here for just a second,” he said, and then turned and scurried towards the direction of the bathroom.

Inwardly, John smiled. _What’s he got going, the big imp!_

He was back in fifteen seconds. Heavily, he let out his breath. “Okay. Come with me.” Sherlock led John to the bathroom.

John got to the bathroom’s doorway, and stood stock still. The room was strewn with at least a dozen colorful, blazing candles. They were on the floor, the sink...the back of the toilet. From behind the shower curtain, steam was rising. The shower curtain. John turned and looked at Sherlock.

“So, this is why you took off like a shot out of Mrs. Hudson’s. You were setting all this up. And…the…curtain. You bought that… shower curtain I was admiring today. Sherlock….it’s...it’s beautiful.” The curtain sported a full-size painting of a beautiful winter mountain scene on a rich indigo background.

“I heard you debating with yourself whether to purchase it or not and knew you’d never spend that kind of money on it just because it was something _you_ wanted….so…Happy Christmas.”

John ran his fingers across the soft cotton fabric. “Yeah, sixty-five quid is a crazy amount for a shower curtain.”

A firm hand cupped John’s chin. “But you _like_ it. And you _deserve_ it.”

 “And these candles,” John began. “So they weren’t for your mother.”

“No…and now, if you’ll allow me…John…” He began by kneeling down and removing John’s boots and socks; then the shirt… unsnapping each button with a slow deliberation. Next, came John’s jeans; his able hands undoing the belt, button, and zipper in one fell swoop.

“You’re quite lovely,” Sherlock remarked, when at last John stood before him completely unclothed.  After he undressed, he took John’s hands, kissed each one in turn, and led him into the shower. They kissed slowly, under the warm rush of water, the steam gently rising around them.

“Hang on,” Sherlock said. He reached behind him and pulled a bottle from the wire rack. “May I?” He questioned John, who answered affirmatively with a shake of his head. Sherlock poured a generous amount of the liquid into his hands and began working it onto John’s skin, starting at his shoulders.

“God that feels good, Sherlock. And the scent! Earthy...a bit…spicy…what is it?”

Sherlock gave him a quick kiss on the temple. “Frankincense, sage, and cinnamon. I had it custom mixed at Serenity. You remember, the scent shop we were in today.”

“And here I thought you were buying something for your mother...so wait…and these candles. Did you get anything for your mum then?”

Sherlock laughed. “Sage- stimulates the mind, fights mental fatigue, and is a great skin moisturizer; cinnamon- increases blood circulation and provides a pleasant sweetness to the blend; and frankincense- rejuvenates the skin, deepens the breath, and inspires you to appreciate and live in the moment.”

John gave a long low whistle. “Coordinating women’s clothes to match their skin coloring; fanciful candles; earthy-scented, specially formulated body wash…. Who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock?”

“Smart ass,” Sherlock muttered.

John smacked his shower mate’s bare bottom a little. “Actually, I like this side of you. You’re a lot more honed into your emotions than you ever lot on to people. But I like it even better, that this sort of thing is something reserved for us; and don’t stop with the Massage, please”

Sherlock smiled. He again reached for the body wash and squeezed an enormous amount of it down the torso of John and himself.  He then continued with his prior administrations, working his way across John’s rugged back, down to his bum, where those long hands loitered for a bit… rubbing and pinching in turn. Eventually, his fingertips circled their way towards the front. Softly teasing and caressing, they sensed John’s mild trembling. Sherlock looked down and into his partner’s eyes. They were filled with passion and he knew his mirrored the same. Gently, he possessed John’s manhood, now thick and swollen. He felt his own need rising and placing his unoccupied hand behind John’s neck, lowered his lips to meet his lovers. The taste of him was incredible. Small whimpers started to escape Sherlock as, simultaneously, he began to stoke John’s lathered penis. John reached his hand up and encircled Sherlock’s, enticing him to stroke faster…harder. He soon broke off the kiss as his breathing became more labored. He closed his eyes and felt his essence rising. “Oh god…Sherlock…Sher…”

And he exploded, mingling his cum with the soapsuds. Sherlock felt it spilling down over their entwined hands and a heated moan escaped him. He had a hard time keeping his own desire in check, but he wanted to wait until they reached the bedroom…at some point. Now… here… this was John’s moment. His John. He still could not believe this man loved him. This beautiful, strong, incredible man.

John opened his eyes and found Sherlock’s gazing at him….wide and shining. After a quick kiss, Sherlock grabbed the hose and showered the both of them off. They exited the tub and toweled each other down, stopping for small kisses and nibbles throughout the process. Sherlock put his pajama bottoms and robe back on and John went upstairs to get his.

While John was out of the room, Sherlock walked over to the window, opened it, and looked out. A light snow had started to fall. The thermometer they had attached to the outside showed that the temperature had now fallen to a decidedly uncomfortable -16C. He was about to move away, when he thought he saw movement just outside their door.

“Ah… Mrs. Hudson? What are you doing? Did you lock yourself out? It’s _freezing_ out there!”

 

“No dear, just getting back from a bit of shopping. But look.” And here she held up a small, dark object with both hands. “It’s a kitten, here on the stoop. And the poor little thing’s half frozen.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. All Creatures...Great and Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson, admire the newest addition to 221 Baker Street.

John changed into his pajamas and robe and bounded down the steps to the living room.

“Sherlock,” he yelled as he advanced, “how about I make us some cocoa and we watch ‘A Christmas…..” His voice trailed off as he reached the doorway and realized that Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

“Where the devil are you now?” he called, and then noticed the open window. A frigid breeze was blowing in, sending the curtains billowing around, combined with a light mix of snow. “For god’s sake, don’t tell me you’re out there scampering about…somehow,” he shrieked, in the general direction of the opening. He looked out the window…up, down, and sideways. No Sherlock. For one panicked second he thought perhaps he had tumbled out, but there didn’t appear to be anything lying in a heap below him. John pulled his head in and shut the window. Further investigation proved that Sherlock was nowhere in the flat.

 _For the love of…he must be downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. He was only wearing slippers…couldn’t have gone out in **this** weather like that._ But then again, it was Sherlock.

And that’s where he found him…downstairs, on his haunches, cautiously stroking a small, wet mass of fur, huddled on their landlady’s lap.

“Mrs. Hudson found it on the stoop,” he said without looking up.

John looked at Mrs. Hudson who gave him a weak smile.

“And that’s what you saw out the window,” he responded. “I wondered where the hell you’d gone off to.”

“The poor thing was in a bad way,” the landlady offered. “I’ve no idea where it came from. I couldn’t just leave it out in that mess.”

“So, are you going to keep it then?” John questioned.

The lady shrugged her shoulders. “I could put an advert in the papers I suppose. Although… I _have_ been toying with the idea of getting a cat.”

Here, Sherlock stood and addressed the pair. “Perhaps you could just put a few flyers up in Speedy’s. I doubt the cat traveled far, not in this weather. Practically everyone on this street stops in that café now and then. If it does belong to someone, they’ll see the flyer and then they can get ahold of you.”

Mrs. Hudson brightened up. “Oh, that’s a lovey idea, Sherlock. I’ve got a bit of cardstock here somewhere. I’ll do it in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll make him a nice bed in an empty crate with a hot water bottle to warm him.” She went to set the cat on the sofa, but Sherlock intervened.

“Allow me.” he said, as he took the kitten from her hands. “I’ll hold on to her while you get the bed ready. And, yes, it’s a ‘her’. Look at the coloring…the pattern. She’s a calico. They’re almost always female. A male calico is extremely rare.”

John chuckled. “So, to hell with the solar system, but we can keep facts about the cat kingdom salted away, can we? Oh, Sherlock…I love you.”

Sherlock looked towards John and gave him a sheepish grin. “Actually, my grandmother had a calico. That information came from her. She was a great cat lover; always had the odd stray running around in addition to her own brood. They were all terrified of Mycroft.”

Mrs. Hudson snorted at that remark, as she made her way into the kitchen.

* * *

 

Within fifteen minutes the tiny feline was snuggled in her crate, lapping at a bowl of warm milk.

“I think I’ll call her… Cali,” Mrs. Hudson stated.

“Cali?” Sherlock mocked, “How very…imaginative of you.”

“Well, it’s just until I know if I’ll be keeping her or not, isn’t it?” the lady answered, somewhat exasperated. “ _Then_ , I’ll give her a proper name.”

 “Cali is a fine name, Mrs. Hudson,” John affirmed, giving Sherlock the stink eye.

Sherlock had the good sense to look slightly abashed.

“Well now,” John announced, clapping his hands together, “this was a fun little… _diversion_ , but I do believe, Sherlock, that we should head back to our flat and let Mrs. Hudson and ah...Cali…get on with their evening.”

“Right,” he agreed, and proceeded to give the kitten one last pat on the head, and Mrs. Hudson a peck on the cheek. “I’ll help you hang those flyers tomorrow if you’d like.”

 “That’d be lovely, dear, thank you.”

And the two men made their way back to 221B.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
